


Jonquil, Impatiens, and Loud As Fuck

by VulpusTumultum



Series: OC x OC [8]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Biting, Clothed Sex, F/M, Fetish, Inspired By Tumblr, Marking, Modern Thedas, Scratching, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Shameless Smut, Size Difference, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-14
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-04-14 16:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4571448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpusTumultum/pseuds/VulpusTumultum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From a Tumblr flower language prompt for Impatiens and Jonquil (Impatience and Desire)</p><p>Modern Thedas Inquisition plotline- Herald/Inquisitor Sethras Adaar and his rabble-rousing Dalish companion Ghost Lavellan take a break from the serious business of tracing red lyrium on the street for a little bit of fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jonquil, Impatiens, and Loud As Fuck

**Author's Note:**

  * For [foxli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxli/gifts).



> Also inspired by [these boots](http://bakafox.tumblr.com/post/126402767211) which are what Ghost's wearing.

It wasn't _just_ the boots. Ghost had worn them before in the time Sethras had known her and they'd worked together. And slept together, for a varying value of 'sleeping'. But she hadn't often worn a short skirt with them before on jobs, or around the warehouse bases and meeting places of the tiny-but-growing Inquisition.

It was the club, too, rough and cramped and underground, the music loud, and varying between decent garage band and much better punk, with a little overlap into industrial or goth, though not  _much_ overlap. The crowd was mostly elves, mixed with humans, a handful of dwarves- and fortunately, two other Vashoth, so he didn't stick out  _too_ badly. A lie, really, he  _did_ stand out, since they were clearly bouncers, and while he'd talked to them briefly, Sethras wasn't dressed like he worked there, even if ripped jeans, bike boots, and a modified band tee shirt was pretty much one of the standard looks for the crowd. 

Most of the crowd not having had to modify a tee shirt because even 3XL was a little tight, and the sleeves had wound up ripped off, or cut and then laced along the neck so a head with a pair of horns could pull it on more easily. Not a lot of record labels or indie bands really worried about expanding their wares to actually just  _fit_ even shorter, leaner, members of his race. Their home nation was pretty closed to imports- especially media-related- and outside of the Qun, Vashoth or Tal-Vashoth were always minorities.

He wasn't getting too many propositions anymore though, since Ghost had met back up with him after nosing around a little herself, she'd had him by the arm in a fairly meaningful manner, and was now tugging him down by a horn and getting on tiptoe to better talk right into one of his ears so that yelling wasn't entirely necessary.

-0-

Ghost was frustrated, though relieved too- no sign that anyone was pushing red lyrium in this neighborhood yet- and now her contacts here were warned. The assholes behind the shit were fond of using the alienages and other nonhuman areas for a little testing now and then, even though their real push was to shem with the 'designer' versions of the drug.

And some of the frustration didn't have anything to do with the mission she was helping this little  _Inquisition_ out. Creators, the fancy-ass Vashoth  _had_ shown up looking fairly the part for this place, like he'd said he would. Less of the nice clothes that while attractive as all fuck on him, were pricey and showy, and yet still showy.  _Here_ he wasn't wearing longer sleeves as a sop to the Chantry-types that were bothered by the scars he had- they always read them as signs of blood magic, when what they were was decorative art. Like the black roses twisting through them.

And  _Sylaise take the fucking wheel_ \- the ripped up jeans were tight enough on his thighs that there was more ink on skin easily visible when he walked, if one was looking. The music of the place was her kind of music, it was her kind of crowd, and if they hadn't been here for such fucking serious reasons, it would have been a good place for fun.

...Maybe it still could be, his arm felt good in hers and he had a smile she figured she knew by now when he looked at  _her._ Sure they didn't have all night to party, but a quick break never hurt. So Ghost pulled him down and leaned up and said the words on her mind into his pierced ear, “There's a storage closet in the back I checked out earlier, can pick it open again.”

Ok, slightly stupid words maybe, not exactly to the center of what she had on her mind, but since she had him by the horns and at the right level for a kiss that followed the train of thoughts a little more expressively.

Besides, he was a bright boy.

-0-

More of a room than just a closet, small, big enough, and private enough. Also not as dirty as the bathrooms or narrow fire stairs and exit halls. And almost as loud as the main part of the club, music-wise. Not  _quite_ so loud, but still, making it just as well that they hadn't come in here to  _talk_ .

It suited her mood just fine, the wall he had her back against carrying the vibrations of the music. She'd climbed him like a tree for kisses and his big hands had been up her skirt and her shirt, and she'd gotten his jeans undone, the two of them getting the condom out of his pocket and onto him together in between even more hungry kisses and bites against skin that became sharper marks with some sucking.

Ghost would have been willing to sacrifice her underwear, but a little squirming and some time down and twisting and bending they were off one leg entirely, even if still looped around a boot at the ankle, so her thighs could be back around him like she  _wanted_ them to be, as hot, slicked fingers were sliding past the lips of her pussy and into her channel.

Ghost swore at him eagerly and arched when he rubbed along her clit teasingly, digging her shoulders against the wall to brace herself while Sethras made sure she was wet enough, and he was slick enough to thrust into her smoothly, clearly as urgent as she was. As urgent as the night, as the the music was.

When he move his hand and thrust in, she was also as  _loud_ as the music was, until they positioned better and she could muffle herself against his chest, her fingers digging hard at Sethras' arms or back, and her thighs tightening as he fucked her against the wall. The bassline and hard vibrations from the club's music couldn't really compare, and she tightened, only barely aware that his jeans had slid much further down, and the studs on her boots were pressing and rubbing at his skin, part of what was making him shudder and mutter hot endearments and obscenities in an increasingly more raggedly husky voice. When she did think about it, she tried to curl her aching legs to make them dig into him  _harder_ . 

“ _Creators_ \- like that! Sethras- fuck, _yes. There!”_

He felt so  _fucking good_ . 

“Ghost- ah, _fuck-_ Ghost-”

He came first, she heard it in how he said her name, could feel it, even protected, and as crushed as she was between him and the wall, smell it- or rather smell how much stronger that lyrium odor was to his skin from his exertions and pleasure. Ghost reflexively pressed her face in harder against him,  _public place, public place,_ more out of habit than really  _caring_ so that when she felt the final clenching burst of  _almost_ and need turn into hot satiation and pleasure, she didn't give the amplified, screaming vocals competition again.

He slowed, and lingered, bracing himself against the wall, keeping her between it and him, and she trembled with him, panting, and the two of them even laughing a little as they recovered and went back to kisses that locked their mouths together and tangled their tongues- shaky, dirty laughs at having stolen some time as if they were a couple of fucking  _teenagers_ in the middle of a possibly world-wrecking crisis.

He lowered her finally, and Ghost had to stay against the wall, her legs aching and weak, shaking, and hold onto him as he knelt to clean her up-  _almost doing more than just that_ , kissing at her and even licking in at the lips of her pussy, her skirt still hiked up- 

“Oh you _fucker_ ,” Ghost leaned harder against the wall, and he smirked at her.

“Later, when we're done with the other places?” he suggested it as he slid her skirt back down, and rose to pull his own underwear and jeans back up into place- and now Ghost saw her boots _had_ left marks on his thick skin, reddened it where scarring and tattoos didn't prevent that.

“Yeah. Later sounds like a good idea. You're still a fucking asshole for stopping that now.” She was breathless, probably barely heard over the noise, as she concentrated on how to _walk_ again and he was finishing zipping his fly.

From his smirk, he'd at least read her lips, and she swatted him before they made their way back out into the crowd.

 


End file.
